Loki the Matchmaker
by Limited-Fantasy
Summary: In which Loki seeks out partners for his mortal sons: Mycroft, Sherlock, and James Moriarty. Crack.
1. Mycroft

Anthea was texting as usual as she waited for her boss's arrival. She stood outside the Canary Warf DLR station, her eyes flickering up once in awhile to see if John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were still within her line of sight.

She had just finished typing out her latest quicksilver observations when she received a new text. This text is from an unrecognisable number. A foreign number. She searched her mental records for the exact area code as she forwarded the text straightaway to Mr. Holmes. No one knew her number without a certain amount of government clearance and a foreign number could be a threat.

Once sent, she opened the message, curious to see its contents.

Unknown Sender 20:15

Don't you think Mycroft Holmes is brilliant?

Anthea raised an eyebrow, bemused. Who was texting her and why? How did this foreigner know her boss and what kind of inane question was that?

Two more texts arrive within seconds. She opened the one from Mr. Holmes first.

Mycroft Holmes (20:16)

On my way. Ignore him, number is a dummy.

She frowned and obeyed, closing her phone for a second to watch Sherlock Holmes and John Watson instead. The two were still crouched over the crime scene, whispering things that she couldn't hear.

Her phone is quick to alert her of another message and this time, to her surprise, she was not even given the option to "view message". Instead, the message flooded her screen:

Unknown Sender (20:18)

So you do and you trust him! Do you like the way he dresses?

Anthea shut her phone and glanced around warily. Whoever it was had access to CCTV? Or were they just intimidating her?

Her phone calls her attention again. Out of habit, she went back to it and found another message by the same mysterious person.

Unknown Sender (20:19)

I agree, he could lose some weight first...but he is a gentleman, is he not?

Anthea had a very strong urge to toss away her mobile. Clearly it was compromised and she was starting to feel just like one of the civilians she sometimes had to pick up for Mr. Holmes.

Unknown Sender (20:20)

But let me be blunt about this: Do you fancy Mycroft?

Anthea dropped her mobile.

John craned his head toward the DLR station when he heard something drop and watched with bewilderment as Mycroft's attractive brunette assistant stomped on her mobile. He was just about to ask Sherlock if he noticed when the man himself tapped John on the shoulder.

"Most likely Mycroft's orders, John. Now pay attention, I don't wish to go over this again..."


	2. Sherlock

John surfaced from the pool, gasping. Moriarty was nowhere to be seen and the bomb still hadn't gone off. Shaking the water from his face, he struggled to the edge when he saw a crumpled body on the floor. His heart was racing as he clambered back onto the tiles and crawled over to what was definitely Sherlock Holmes.

He could smell gunpowder and blood in the air mixed with chlorine.

Not caring if Moriarty or his sniper was still in the vicinity, he leaned over Sherlock and flipped him onto his back. John clinically noted that Sherlock had been shot twice: once in the heart (sniper) and once in the throat (Moriarty). There was no way he could still be alive, but all the same, he checked for a pulse, as if desperately hoping that the wounds weren't fatal, that Sherlock Holmes had defied the odds and survived.

John shouldn't have been alive, but Sherlock had pushed him out of the way in the last moment.

As his damp fingers slipped from Sherlock's cool wrist, he heard the echoes of footsteps. John smiled grimly. So Moriarty had returned to finish him after all.

"Do you love him, mortal?" That was not Moriarty's voice.

John stiffened and turned around to see a tall, pale man in a long black trench coat and a sharp black suit. His stance and the way his green eyes seemed to be able to learn every little detail about him with one look was familiar. He found that he could not speak as the pain and the reality of the situation, of a future without Sherlock Holmes, slowly started to seep in-

"What if I told you that I can bring him back?"

John stared, trying to process what the man just said. Perhaps he was silent for too long because the strange man with the piercing green eyes was now only a step away from Sherlock's body. John leaned back, trying in vain to shield his dead friend from the looming man.

"I only ask a single thing in return for healing each fatal wound of his, John Watson. Will you accept my terms?"

The strange man was crazy. He had to be. But at the same time, maybe it was because he was crazy, because he looked so much like Sherlock, because John Watson himself was treading the thin line between overwhelming grief and guilt that he nodded.

The man smiled and knelt down to look at John at eye-level. It wasn't a nice smile, it was a smile similar to James Moriarty's, to Mycroft Holmes's. It was a cunning sort of expression. John desperately wished he had his gun with him at that moment.

"One: you will end your relations with the mortal named Sarah."

John gaped, not sure why or how this man knew about Sarah. He didn't wait for an answer and looked down at Sherlock's body.

John followed the man's eyes and saw the man's hand hover over the gaping neck wound. The man's hand was glowing an eerie green. John blinked and blinked again, not quite believing what he saw when the hand moved away from Sherlock's neck: the wound was completely gone.

"Two: you will act upon your true feelings and start a relationship with Sherlock."

"What?" John looked away from the man's hand, which was now over Sherlock's heart and stared at him in disbelief. What feelings? Who was this man? Why did he care?

The man stood a moment later, ignoring John's question, and straightened his coat. He had a small smile on his face which was just a touch less evil, but disturbingly fond. The smile grew back to what John's confused mind categorised as "normal evil level" when the man turned to look at him.

"Remember, you agreed and I will know if you do not fulfill your part of the bargain." And with that, the man just...vanished. John desperately hoped that all of that evening was just a really, really bad dream.


	3. Moriarty

Jim Moriarty wasn't in the mood for visitors. Another one of his schemes had been ruined by Sherlock Holmes. The very same Sherlock Holmes he was certain that he'd killed two weeks ago.

He resisted the urge to rip at his short hair and instead smoothed his shirt as he got up from his work desk. Jim didn't show a flicker or surprise when he saw one of the shadows shift and reveal a tall, pale man with viper green eyes. Instead, he returned to his seat and glared.

"Dad, I don't understand you sometimes. Why keep this irritant alive when he decided to be boring and choose love over intellect?"

Dad smiled his usual enigmatic smile and took the seat opposite of Jim. Somehow, despite sitting where his lackeys usually sat, dad still looked like royalty, like he was in control.

"You need a fitting enemy, James, and who better than your own brother?"

Jim continued to glare, but there was a hint of surprise that he couldn't keep out of his eyes at the revelation.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"What fun would it be if I told you all the answers?"

He desperately wished that he could strike out in frustration at his dad at that moment, but he knew that would be wrong. It would be emotional and beyond foolish to strike out against a god. So he settled on offering his dad a cigarette instead.

"Why are you here, dad?" Jim asked as he lit their cigarettes. It was perhaps safest to change the subject.

Dad took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke and silence fill the dark room. Jim grit his teeth. He was not in a patient mood.

"You need a new obsession, James." Those green eyes were intent on him and he wasn't smiling anymore.

Jim was already starting to miss that irritating smile and the evasive answers. He narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"It isn't healthy to obsess so over your own brother."

James rolled his eyes.

"As if you're the one to talk, dad," he snapped. He was no fool, he knew that his dad had a similar sort of obsession with a certain Avenger and Thunder God uncle of his.

His dad crushed his cigarette abruptly on the table, making Jim wince for his imported mahogany.

"My life and your life are completely different, James Moriarty. I am a god, you are a mortal. You are wasting your time obsessing over a man who will never return your feelings, a man who is also your brother. Do try to act more like a Midgardian that you are and find someone else. Surely it can't be hard. How about that Moran you are always with?"

Jim paled at the mention of Sebastian Moran and suddenly various pieces clicked in his mind.

"You did _not_!"

"Of course I did, James. Where else did you think he could've possibly obtained those Latverian beads? Or those winter rose? Or..."

Jim stopped listening and covered his eyes with his free hand. It was at such time that he wished he wasn't half-god and that his father was truly Mortiarty Sr the Maths Professor, who ignored Jim in favour of sudoku and square root jokes. At least then he wouldn't have insane South African snipers like Moran hitting him with bizarre gifts.

Really, was it that much to ask to be left alone so that he could obsess over Sherlock Holmes in peace?


End file.
